


That Little World We Have

by May



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Fluff, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/pseuds/May
Summary: It all comes down to the most ridiculous things, sometimes. But Barbara feels good, in her dormant nightclub, just her and Tabitha and that tequila heat in her gut.Barbara and Tabitha have some downtime in an empty club. Talking. Drinking. Kissing.





	

Outside, Gotham is cold, and nothing will change that. But Sirens makes a space of sparkling lights and constructed velvet shadow. Barbara is certain that nothing will change that, either. It's easier to control the worlds that you make.

During the day, the club is quiet and still, set in place like a movie studio or a dolls house. At the bar, Barbara and Tabitha reconvene with cocktails, Barbara with a margarita, Tabitha with a martini. Barbara likes how the drink goes through stages, different flavours across her tongue, until she's left with a citrus tang on her lips and a warmth in her gut. It makes a lot of sense.

Tabitha doesn't mind which cocktail she has, but she likes simple drinks, with the small novelty of something floating in it, or something speared on a stick. She has a floating olive, and she chases it idly around the drink with her cocktail stick.

She looks bored when she's not in action, even when she's content. It's a remnant of being trained from a young age to fight for some old grudge, an ingrained alertness. Tabitha hasn't talked about that old grudge in a while, and Barbara can't even remember what Theo's objective was. It had been mostly his thing, anyway. Barbara had just been passing through, in a way.

"So when can we kill him?" says Tabitha. She catches the olive through its middle, and slips it into her mouth.

"Penguin?" Barbara runs her thumb against the rim of her glass, and licks away the salt, soaked through with alcohol and lemon juice. "We need to wait."

"I mean Nygma," responds Tabitha, and Barbara recognises a tension, like a cat waving its tail. Tabitha still holds her bandaged wrist stiffly. It's not back to being fully part of her, yet.

"Oh. Soon," says Barbara. "When he's broken Penguin enough."

"What's Nygma's deal, anyway?"

Barbara takes a sip of her drink and shrugs. "Penguin got jealous and killed his girlfriend. Now, Eddie is mad, I guess."

"Oh. Okay." She frowns, and takes a little of her own drink. She's good at handling it; it folds into her ability to compartmentalise, somehow.

"Baaaad decision on Pengy's part," says Barbara. There's something delicious in all of this. Somewhere along the line, Barbara really learned to enjoy rolling in the darkness. She's not sure when she hit stops, but she does know it's better to know that at least a little of what she went through happened to Leslie Thompkins. Maybe it even makes her like the woman more.

"Yeah," says Tabitha with the air of a woman who easily skirts around mess. "I don't like Nygma."

"Duh, no shit." Barbara swallows half her drink, and the tequila warms her insides. "Sweetie, when we don't need him anymore, you'll be able to cut off anything you want, I promise."

Tabitha, who slits throats like children pick flowers, just smiles. Barbara feels a solid, comfortable apathy over Edward's wellbeing. It's nice not to feel messy about something for once.

"I don't just mean that," says Tabitha. "I knew lots of smart guys growing up."

"Oh, yeah. He's like that." Barbara drains her glass, gets to the watery dregs at the bottom. Margaritas don't last long. "But at least he has some fun plans."

"I guess," says Tabitha. "Would be nice to know that Penguin is off my back."

"Are you scared of him?" says Barbara. The problem with Oswald is that he's good at making himself look important, all puffed up feathers. People will rally for him.

"Nah," replies Tabitha. "He's like one of those little dogs. You know, the yappy, bitey ones."

It all comes down to the most ridiculous things, sometimes. But Barbara feels good, in her dormant nightclub, just her and Tabitha and that tequila heat in her gut. Tabitha's empty glass sits to the side, the little cocktail stick sitting up against the edge.

"We'll put him down, you can do what you want with Ed, and the city will be ours." Thinking about it turns Barbara's mind light and effervescent, and she stands and stretches out her arms, and twists her hips back and forth a little. The movement lets her skirt give a little kick.

Tabitha watches her, dark eyes soft and glimmering. Tabitha doesn't bounce, and she's neat and lithe and sinuous in her movements. When Barbara comes to a stop, she puts her hand against Tabitha's smooth cheek, and Tabitha puts her own palm over the back of Barbara's hand. She runs her fingertips, nails gently grazing, down to her wrist. It makes Barbara shiver.

Maybe, they exist in a bubble, a tiny world of mutual understanding and the kind of affection that you only really get from that. And it's also a little world that shines and has shadows just where they want them to be. And Barbara doesn't have to share Tabitha with anything she doesn't understand, or isn't allowed to understand.

Barbara's curls tumble forward as she leans down to kiss Tabitha, so they're both shielded in gold. The kiss is soft, and Tabitha moves her warm hands to press against Barbara's lower back, one hand following the curve of her waist, and the other stiff where the fingers won't bend properly. They move closer, and the world grows tighter around them and thinner at the edges, where it doesn't matter.

Barbara puts her hands on Tabitha's shoulders and feels the toned muscle flex as Tabitha brings her closer. Barbara has to move her leg across Tabitha's lap, and there's a thick seam on her pants that scores across her thigh, just under Barbara's dress. She shifts, so it runs between her legs, and sighs into Tabitha's mouth.

She has always lost, has always come in second place. She's always been not quite good enough for something. Soon, she'll be first.


End file.
